


Little Talks

by peter_panda



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Vaginal Fingering, i guess??, jaime lannister has a trust kink, they are sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 12:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20638880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peter_panda/pseuds/peter_panda
Summary: “What are you doing?”“What does it look like?”“Like you wish to fight those ties.”“I do, actually. They keep me from seeing your teats, and you know how much joy they bring to me-”(or; Jaime touches Brienne in a lot of ways and says some very ridiculous things but she loves him very much so it's okay.)





	Little Talks

His jaw was starting to ache. He slowly slid a finger into her and kissed her hipbones. She was growing restless. Half of him wanted her to throw him down and take what she wanted but she didn't. She just let him do whatever he was doing, what he wanted to do and that was driving him insane. The way she just _let_ him, the trust she was awarding him. It was heady.

When she sneaked a hand down, he gave her a stern look. She took the hand away, her cheeks flaming up. He took his finger out and slowly circled the little nub she was reaching for and she exhaled, eyes slipping shut.

“You've done this before, I take it?”

She just nodded, her throat working, lips opening silently until she closed them again, a bit too forcefully.

“How about here?” His finger trailed back to the place her body opened up, already wet. “Have you ever touched here?”

She shook her head. Wet her lips. “My septa told me that I should never- she said that belonged to my husband.”

“It's your body. Surely it wouldn't be there if it wasn't meant for you-”

She opened her eyes and shot him a look, half ashamed and half defiant.

“Well, I have not.”

“That's such a waste,” he said, brow furrowed in mock concern. “Let me show you-”

He reached for her hand and when she surrendered it, trapped her index finger between two of his own and slowly slipped them inside. She thrust upwards, a tiny sound leaving her lips right before she bit them shut again.

“Do you see?” Suddenly he was very out of breath, his eyes zeroing in on her finger, moving in tandem with his own, brushing her walls, petal soft. “Do you feel how soft it is? That is the softest thing I have ever touched. And so warm. Can you feel how wet you are, my love?”

She let out a sound, deep from her throat. It could've been anything really, a confirmation or a denial. He didn't care. He needed her to see, to feel, to understand. 

“Just think, you could've been doing this for so long,” he whispered, raised his eyes to her face, her jaw tight, her free hand clutching the sheet. Stubborn. She was always so, so stubborn. “Have you every wondered what it would be like? How it would feel?”

Her breathing hitched as he moved their fingers faster but she kept decidedly silent. She thought this a fight, she almost always did. And she wasn't one to yield easily, even to pleasure.

“And you never had a taste,” he said, almost like a lamentation. “That is a tragedy. Do you know what you taste like? I don't have words for it. I could've tasted you every day for the rest of my life and never tire of it. You don't even know.” She made a sound of protest when he abruptly took their fingers out, holding hers with all his own now and slowly guided it towards her mouth, agape with her harsh breaths. “Have a taste.”

She hesitated for a second before she opened her mouth further, allowing him to guide the finger inside. Her brow furrowed in what appeared to be confusion.

“What do you say?”

“I say it tastes like sweat.” She was still panting and her gaze was full of fire. He realised her other hand had already sneaked down, continuing the work he abandoned on her little nub. “Nothing special.” She held his gaze, an open challenge in her eyes. His smiled at her his battle smile, the one he granted to the commanders of opposing armies during parleys. 

“That's because you have no appreciation for finer things, my lady,” he said before he roughly pushed her hand away. “Well, more for me.” He put his mouth on her. 

She was shaking but still the only sounds of her that can be heard were her labored breath, the rustling her skin created while she writhed on the sheets. 

“So damn stubborn,” he muttered, inches away from her wetness, staring at her twitching thighs with deadly determination. “Just let go, wench. For once in your life, stop fighting and let it take you.”

She whimpered when his fingers filled her once more but it wasn't enough. She wasn't there yet. She hadn't yielded.

He took his mouth away again but stood close enough that his lips brushed her skin with every single word. “Come on, Brienne. I swear I will keep you safe. Just let go.” And he kissed the wetness of her with a reverence most people reserved for holy things and she became even more restless, pushing herself towards his mouth, tensing all over. So he reached his hand up on the bed, palm up, an offer. And she took it, clutching it like a lifeline and then-

_“Jaime.”_ Breathless. Her body falling to the bed like knights let their swords do, to show that they yield. Her hand warm in his palm, holding it tighter, impossibly. Still ruling supreme over his soul even in defeat.

It was his biggest victory, the most glorious, every single time.

~o~

She was sitting propped up against the headboard, looking moments from sleep, her eyes hooded, expression softened from satiation. After he was done cleaning them and put the cloth away, she caught his face between her hands for a sweet moment, kissed him softly, like lovers do. Like the fight was over.

He pulled at the ties of her shirt but the knot was too tight as usual and she laughed when he pulled away from her, huffing, looking at the ties like they personally offended him.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“Like you wish to fight those ties.”

“I do, actually. They keep me from seeing your teats, and you know how much joy they bring to me-”

“You are ridiculous-”

“Do you have no care for my happiness, wench?”

She shook her head but pushed his hand away and untied the knot herself. He smiled like it was still the Long Night and the trenches just came alive with fire. She couldn't help but laugh.

“What is it with men and teats, pray tell?” she asked as he palmed one very gently, his thumb brushing the underside.

“Well, they are quite soft, for one.” He brought his thumb up to circle a nipple. She still wasn't used to this particular sensation. It almost tickled. “And warm.” He lowered his head and kissed the other. “And yours just happen to fit into my mouth perfectly.” He then demonstrated how they did.

She tangled one of her hands into his hair and sighed towards the ceiling, feeling giddy of all things. He was ridiculous. How can someone so ridiculous be strong enough to have her yield at the same time, she never understood. How can he be so dear?

He bit the soft flesh lightly. Then pulled away, only to rest his forehead on the space between them, his nose cold but his breath warm on the thin skin. Her heart beating next to his cheek, steady and strong. When she put her hand back in his hair, he snuggled against her warmth like a kitten, his eyes slipping shut. 

No matter how ridiculous, she loved their little talks.


End file.
